


No Good Deed

by thisisle



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: 2:30am wow, Angst, Hospital, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Sunshine - Freeform, Sunshine the Bird - Freeform, Trauma, Whump, ambulance, h/c, yert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisle/pseuds/thisisle
Summary: Alessa gave a growl when Lucas began to fall to his side, incapacitated. She wasn’t expecting a wet, choking sound, though. It wasn’t until the father collapsed to his side that she realized the sound didn’t come from him. Malcolm still lay where he was, eyes wide, face red. Only, it wasn’t just his face that was red. She could barely see the skin that made up his neck because of the rich scarlet that was his blood. Or, what if Malcolm ended up getting slashed by the box cutter in Stranger Beside You !
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	No Good Deed

**Author's Note:**

> heheheheh Prodigal son has now taken the cake in how many fics I've written for the same fandom lol. Thanks to @higherthanakite for the idea! Idk how to link on here. Well anywho enjoy! The more whump the better >:) also I promise i'm literate I try to indent I'm still learning AO3

Malcolm’s heart was pounding out of his chest, and could feel it all the way to his temples when he was at a standoff with Lucas. He was panting, and as the two stood still, Malcolm was gauging what was going through the distraught father’s mind. It wasn’t until the other man’s eyes looked pointedly at something did Malcolm move as well. He saw what he was after and tried lunging for it first. The box cutter, lying by itself and already open. The blade was out, untouched, and ready to dig into skin. Malcolm reached for it, but Lucas beat him to it. In the heat of the moment, Malcolm’s eyes widened in fear when he realized he was now too close for comfort to the man wielding a weapon. 

He just barely scrambled backwards in time to not get wounded. But Lucas was out for blood, and went for the profiler, ready to do whatever it took to get him out of his way. He was prepared to take a life to get his daughter back. Malcolm inhaled sharply as he dodged the attack, just barely. He’d craned his head and neck back so far and fast that he was surprised he didn’t get whiplash from the action. As the two men had their skirmish, noise came from Alessa. It alerted both men, not only because of her cry, but because of what fell from her arms. What fell from the swaddled blankets only enraged Lucas further. He voiced said anger and went right back for the profiler. 

Pure, unabashed anger was an underestimation of what Malcolm could see in Lucas’s eyes. The fact that he thought his daughter was there, and it turned out to be a simple glass ball, brought out the fury in him. On top of it, the real child began to cry from where Malcolm and Alessa hid her. If the situation were right for it, the profiler would have heaved a heavy sigh. But he was fighting for his life, and soon was tackled to the ground, closer than he would have liked to the estranged father. He now had control of the situation, and Malcolm could almost swear that a smile was beginning to form on the man’s lips. He was pressing his hand down, down, down. Almost at Malcolm’s throat. 

He tried to stop Lucas the best he could. He had a grip on the man’s wrist strong enough to keep him from slicing his throat open. His face was reddening with the effort, the veins in his forehead beginning to stand out. The exertion and the fact that his very life was on the line were all contributing factors in the anxiety beginning to rise within him. His breathing became quicker, and he was quickly thinking of the ways he could get himself out of this predicament. However, as much as he resisted against Lucas, he seemed to be stronger. It didn’t come as a surprise to the profiler- he had a lithe, small frame. Lucas was built bigger and stronger, and was slowly winning this fight. Malcolm uttered a groan of effort in trying to stop the box cutter from getting closer to the sensitive skin of his throat.

The sound of a very disgraceful battle cry sounded from behind them. Malcolm’s blue eyes flashed to a spot above his opponent’s head. It was the crystal ball, glistening in the light. Alessa’s small hands held it firmly and brought it down with excruciating force onto the head of their shared enemy. It was her maternal instinct and adrenaline that powered her blow, and an effective one at that. Malcolm’s eyes watched the long arc that it traced before it came down on Lucas, but it gave him very little time to escape from underneath. 

Alessa gave a growl when Lucas began to fall to his side, incapacitated. She wasn’t expecting a wet, choking sound, though. It wasn’t until the father collapsed to his side that she realized the sound didn’t come from him. Malcolm still lay where he was, eyes wide, face red. Only, it wasn’t just his face that was red. She could barely see the skin that made up his neck because of the rich scarlet that was his blood. 

Malcolm’s first sound was a gasp. He could hear the blood gurgling in his throat as he did so, choking on it. As soon as the glass ball made contact with Lucas’s head, the force of it brought him down. The hand holding the box cutter went with him, forcing the blade to cut right through the profiler’s neck. It squished into the soft tissue, burying even the hilt into his neck. Malcolm reached hands for it, trying to release the other man’s grip from it, but when momentum took his unconscious body to the floor, the hand still holding it ripped it across his neck and then ripped out again, clattering to the floor. It tore a vicious line through Malcolm’s throat, severing arteries as it cut. Malcolm was gasping for his life, and when he made eye contact with Alessa, he tried to talk. 

“Ca-” What was meant to be a sentence came out as a wet gasping sound. 

“Oh god,” Alessa began to worry. “I’m gonna go get help,” she offered, assuming he was in the process of asking her to call for help. As she rushed out, Malcolm made sounds of frustration and pain to keep himself awake. He could feel his eyes beginning to roll back in his head, but he fought it. He raised one hand slowly to his neck. All of his focus was spent on trying to stay alive, decreasing coordination elsewhere. He was genuinely scared.

Malcolm’s eyes begin to roll again as his mouth moved. No sound came out but the noises of choking. He was now expelling blood each time he spluttered and fought for breath. He was beginning to fade in and out of consciousness. He mustered the strength to turn to his side, gasping loudly when the blood began to pour out more freely now. His breath was hitching and becoming high pitched wheezing sounds. He instinctively reached a hand to his open throat, wincing and tensing at the pain it caused. No sooner than his hand was placed at his neck, it was coated and sticky with his own blood. He forced himself to crawl away from Lucas, in the event he was still alive. It was getting harder to crawl with just one hand, the other pressed as tight as he could tolerate at his neck. 

He began to falter. His vision began to become blanketed with black dots, before the edges of his vision grew darker. He managed a wheeze to keep him in the moment, but before long, his eyes were drooping, and his head followed. He was vaguely aware of his head hitting the floor before he was out. 

When he came to, the blood that had not stopped was forming a small puddle. He hadn’t been out very long at all. He slowly lifted his head, causing pain all throughout his neck. He gasped from the effort, and quickly brought a hand to the wounded area, trying to keep the vital life source inside as he crawled further away. Malcolm was exhausting himself the longer he went on. He didn’t dare turn his head, fearful that it would only exacerbate the trauma he’d already endured. But he could feel the trail of blood he was leaving behind. More importantly, he didn’t hear Lucas moving or talking. With the hit he’d taken to the head, he would hopefully be out for a while. Malcolm was counting on that. 

The next breath he took caused problems. The inhale bothered his wounded throat, forcing a cough. It caused more pain and left him holding his breath as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He struggled to regain his breath and had to press his hand tighter against the wide expanse of exposed veins. Then, knowing what to do next, Malcolm forced himself to his knees, and fought his arm out of his jacket. His labored breaths were growing more ragged in the process. He had to switch hands to apply pressure while he sluggishly shrugged his arm out of the other sleeve. When that was done, he attempted to wrap the sleeve of his jacket around the wound. He fought tears at the harsh fabric against the painful area, but gritted his teeth through the process. 

The sleeve was nearly soaked through before Malcolm could even gather the dexterity in his hands to tie it. He was losing too much blood too fast. He wouldn’t be conscious, let alone alive much longer. His last thought before everything became fuzzy was of how far away help was before he passed out or died. Whichever came first. 

Just as Malcolm’s body began to list to one side, slowly making its descent, two figures barreled through one of the entrances, hands held out in front of them. Malcolm moved his eyes, careful not to move his head, to look at them. He was quite a sight, arms still working at his suit jacket to make a knot in some form of a makeshift bandage. Even if he’d managed to tie it, it would not have been much help. The entire sleeve sopped up the blood, but there was no sign of it stopping yet. It was all down his button up shirt, down his legs, and pooling beneath him. There was a thick trail of blood from where the blade had originally embedded itself in his flesh. 

Gil and JT didn’t need long to comprehend what happened. They didn’t afford to, either. One glance at Malcolm and Gil turned around, beckoning the first responders that trailed them.It broke his heart to see Malcolm like this. He immediately ran over, JT following, and the first responders hot on his tail. When they reached the profiler’s side, the two emergency medical personnel spoke hurriedly to each other, discussing a plan. The stretcher they’d wheeled in was standing beside them, and they started their transfer process.

Gil quickly turned to JT with pleading and worry clear in his gaze. “JT, can you stay behind and talk with Alessa and Lucas? Get their statements? I need to go with them to the hospital.” 

The older man barely stayed long enough to fully register JT’s answer. Of course he would stay while the other went. Gil was already racing to keep pace with the paramedics as they escorted Malcolm quickly out of the building and to the ambulance waiting outside for them, lights flashing brightly. Gil made room along the side of the stretcher to look down at Malcolm, who was in worse shape than he was mere seconds ago, if that was possible. 

The whites of his eyes were showing, and his hands kept moving towards his neck, as if he wanted to put more pressure there. “Kid, calm down,” he tried to reassure, unaware if he could still hear him or not. Malcolm seemed to acknowledge, and even respond, even if he wasn’t focused. He began to talk, which descended into babbling before it turned to gasping again. The two were stopped from further interaction when they came to a halt at the ambulance doors. Gil only had to flash his badge to earn a ride in the cabin of the ambulance. He knew better than to snap at them, interfere with their work, or do anything to endanger anyone. As long as he did that, he could keep an eye on Malcolm from the minute they left here to the minute they got to the hospital. Before they even took off on the road, Gil furrowed his brows in concern as he watched the two paramedics get to work. They’d barely taken away his makeshift dressing to replace it with a real one when Malcolm tried to scream, but gargled on his own blood, causing more of it to leak from his mouth and throat.


End file.
